


Hiding in my Bones

by chaosmanor



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Comeplay, Consensual Non-Monogamy, Hopeful Ending, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/pseuds/chaosmanor
Summary: "There's a thread or two still left between our souls."
Relationships: Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18
Collections: 2020 Viggorli Secret Santa





	Hiding in my Bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salable_mystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/gifts).



> Title and summary from "Bang" by Empires

The knock on the door came while Viggo was kneeling in front of the fire, feeding more wood to the flames. The uncertainty about whether Orlando would even make it had been eating away at Viggo, so he was deeply relieved to open the villa door on the damp autumn night and find Orlando standing in the shadows at the door.

Viggo held the door open and stood back, letting Orlando in.

The heavy fog outside hid the villa from the road, so Viggo couldn’t see the car that had dropped Orlando off. Even the nearest streetlight was only a muted glimmer in the diffuse silver darkness. The night was cold and silent under the heavy Atlantic fog.

“Where are you this year?” Viggo asked.

Orlando shook moisture off his hair and jacket like a wet dog, and dropped his backpack on the tiled floor of the mudroom.

Viggo wanted to grab Orlando. Kiss him. Fuck him against the wall, right there and then. Fuck, it was good to see him again.

“Hamburg, at a krav maga training camp,” Orlando said, dragging his jacket off and handing it to Viggo. “Oh, it’s warm in here.”

Viggo hung Orlando’s jacket up beside his own on what was either a coat rack or a sculpture of a moose. Or both. “After last year, I didn’t think you’d appreciate anywhere unheated again. Krav maga?”

Orlando half-grinned at Viggo. “Yeah. I really do krav maga, too. And you know what? I always get covered in bruises when I train.”

“Isn’t that interesting?” Viggo said, following Orlando into the main room of the villa.

Orlando threw himself down on the couch in front of the fireplace. “I think it is,” Orlando said. “Better than last year, when I went to a meditation retreat and had no reason to get so much as a scratch.”

Viggo sat down in an armchair opposite Orlando. “Hopefully you were relaxed when you went home. I’ve heard meditation retreats can get pretty intense.”

Orlando smiled at Viggo properly, some of the tension beginning to drop out of his face. “Sure,” he said. “But not the kind of intense that leads to carpet burn.”

It always took them time to settle back into being together. They’d learned this through trial and error. Couldn’t rush this part, the chatting, showering, napping, or they wouldn’t be in the right place later.

And Viggo really needed that. He needed the moment when they remembered and returned, because for him this was about more than fucking. This was about everything.

Orlando leaned back and closed his eyes.

“How’s the jet lag?” Viggo asked. “Do you want coffee? Or sleep?”

“Some krav maga training camp,” Orlando said, without opening his eyes. “You’re supposed to be toughening me up, not offering me naps and hot drinks.”

Viggo chuckled. He was happy to have the chance to look, really look at Orlando, to see the changes another year had brought.

Orlando looked tired, worn around the edges. Time was finally beginning to show on his face, in creases beside his eyes and grooves beside his mouth. He was still beautiful, perhaps even more so now, particularly when he was unguarded and in private.

“Is this an AirBNB?” Orlando asked, sleepily. “Or did you borrow it from someone?” He stretched, smiling at Viggo.

“Belongs to a friend. Dieter is a sculptor. He uses my place in LA at times, so I asked if I could borrow his summer home.”

“That explains the decor,” Orlando said.

The living area was an interesting mix of pragmatic comfort, with deeply cushioned couch and armchairs and a plush rug in front of an open fire, and surreal nightmare, with hulking mammalian sculptures looming in the corners of the room.

The sculptures were useful for hanging hats and scarves on though.

“You should see the bedroom,” Viggo said.

“Please tell me your friend is into kink and there’s a St Andrews cross and a sling,” Orlando said. “Because I am completely up for that kind of weekend again.”

Orlando was grinning at Viggo, his cheeks beginning to flush, and Viggo had to swallow. In 2011 Viggo had borrowed a New York apartment with a dungeon. This was clearly burned into Orlando’s memory, too.

“Close,” Viggo said. “Remarkably close.”

Viggo stood up and walked over the bedroom door beside the small kitchen alcove.

Orlando followed him, and when Viggo switched on the main bedroom light, Orlando said, “Well, fuck me.”

Viggo’s friend was into cock. The bedroom was a celebration of dick, big and small, soft and hard. Ceramic and marble cocks lined the shelves. Paintings and photographs of dicks filled the walls. The bedspread was patterned with phalluses. The light fittings were dicks.

“It’s a lot,” Viggo agreed. Viggo was particularly proud that one of his pieces was hanging near the window, a semi-abstract painting. He had limited options for that kind of intimate painting, so rarely got to see them hanging anywhere except in his own home.

“I suppose everyone needs a hobby,” Orlando said, moving around the room inspecting the sculptures. He picked up an intricate ceramic penis, about 20 centimetres long. “Decorative or functional?”

“Decorative art has function,” Viggo said. “We’ve had this discussion before.”

“You know what I mean,” Orlando said, poking Viggo in the ribs with the dick and making him squirm.

He refused to be ticklish. Refused.

“External or internal use?” Orlando said.

“That’s a Briggs original, don’t drop it,” Viggo said. “Pretty sure it’s not intended for internal use.” He picked up a translucent cock, smooth and with a pleasing bend leading to a big head. “This, however, looks like it gets used.”

Orlando stepped close, trapping Viggo’s hand holding the cock between their chests. “I don’t think we should actually use your friend’s erotic art.”

“It would be rude,” Viggo agreed.

Orlando leaned forward, resting his face against Viggo’s neck. “It’s been a long year,” he said, his voice low.

Viggo pulled the glass dick free and pushed it onto a shelf behind him, then wrapped both arms around Orlando. “Hey,” he said, hugging Orlando. “You’re here now.”

“This is hard,” Orlando said, his voice was unsteady.

“I know,” Viggo said. He rubbed Orlando’s back in slow strokes.

Viggo thought of Orlando everyday. Missed him with varying degrees of intensity--most acutely when they’d just been together, fading over many months to a gentle familiar ache, then building again until they saw each other again.

Viggo tipped Orlando’s chin up and pressed their mouths together briefly.

“I need to shower,” Orlando said, and Viggo nodded.

Viggo sat on the bed and watched as Orlando retrieved his pack from the entrance hall and brought it into the bedroom. He pulled out his toiletry bag and went into the bathroom opening off the bedroom.

Through the open door, Viggo watched Orlando strip off his clothes, dark-colored sweats and serious business athletic wear, exactly like someone going to a martial arts training camp would wear. Under the compression t-shirt and underwear, Orlando was lean and taut, more muscular than he’d been for a decade. Orlando was even hotter than he’d been the year before.

“Thank you, krav maga,” Viggo murmured.

While Orlando showered, Viggo took a photo of the giant dick sculpture hanging over the bed and sent it to his partner, who replied with a string of disbelieving obscenity so precisely typed Viggo was certain she was very drunk.

He was still chuckling at his phone when Orlando came out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel.

“Where is she?” Orlando asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling his pack closer.

“Um, Cap D’Agde I think,” Viggo said. “Somewhere naturist, definitely, going by the photos.”

This was how he’d always handled his annual get togethers with Orlando, as a grandfather clause eased into each new relationship. His current partner had beamed and asked, “So I get to fuck around on those weekends too?”

It worked well for them.

He had every reason to think his partner would be open to him spending more time with Orlando, to them all being together, really together, in a consensually non-monogamous relationship. That conversation...well. It wasn’t one Viggo had tried to bring up again. Not with Orlando.

Orlando looked over Viggo’s shoulder as Viggo flicked through the photos his partner had sent from that afternoon. “That’s a lot of skin,” Orlando said.

“She’s having a great time,” Viggo said. He switched off his phone and put it on the nightstand.

Viggo pushed a pillow behind himself and moved back, making more room for Orlando. “How are you feeling?”

Orlando took his phone out of his pack and put it beside Viggo’s on the nightstand, then propped the phone battery beside it.

“Better,” Orlando said. “Ready. Like I’m here now.”

Viggo laid back on the bed and held out a hand to Orlando. “Yeah?”

Orlando took his hand and clambered over him, towel sliding up over his thighs. “Did you remember to save up for me? Like we agreed?”

“Been a week,” Viggo said. “A week of thinking about what we’re going to do then not jerking off or fucking. You’re going to have to fuck me first, because I do not have the self control to do you right now.”

Orlando would be tight. Untouched-for-a-year tight. It would take minutes, actual minutes, to prep him. Viggo did not have the patience to wait minutes.

Orlando leaned forward, his weight on Viggo’s chest, pinning him down. “Just so you know, I don’t care if you come instantly. I don’t care if you can’t get it up again for hours. I’m going to fuck you until I’m done. Okay?”

“Promise?” Viggo said.

The kiss was slow and lazy, contradicting the pounding of Viggo’s heart in his chest.

“Then break out the cock rings and lube,” Orlando said, lifting himself up. “Hope you already prepped, because I’m not waiting.”

Viggo was beyond ready. As soon as Orlando was off him, Viggo dragged his t-shirt over his head and then ditched his jeans. He rolled over to the nightstand and pulled out his kit, then tossed it at Orlando, who caught it smoothly.

“Two dozen?” Orlando asked, holding up the strips of condoms.

“Twenty-five minute walk to the nearest store,” Viggo said, pulling Orlando’s towel open. “Let’s not run out.”

He reached for one of the condoms Orlando was holding and Orlando stretched his arm out of Viggo’s reach.

“Not your mouth as well, not now. I mean it about wanting to last,” Orlando said. “Get on your back on the bed.”

Orlando handed Viggo the towel and poked at the kit. “Good,” he said, pulling out a ring as well.

Viggo lay back on the bed on the towel and watched Orlando ease the cock ring down his cock and settle it around the base. The look Orlando gave Viggo as he reached for the condom was smug.

“Missed my cock?” Orlando asked, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth. He rolled the condom down his cock and settled it at the base, then gave the tip a squeeze.

“Missed all of you,” Viggo said. “But yes, some of the missing was focused on your cock.”

Orlando grinned and picked up the lube. “Well, look at that,” he said, leaning forward and pushing his fingers against the base of the plug in Viggo’s ass, making Viggo gasp.

“Please don’t,” Viggo said, because fuck he was hard, balls pulled up tight, and the combination of more pressure in his ass and Orlando leaning over him, naked and gorgeous, was too much.

“Poor darling,” Orlando said, running his hand over Viggo’s thigh instead. He sounded amused, not sympathetic. “Perhaps I should take it out?”

Viggo closed his eyes and listened to the click of the lid on the lube and the faint slither of lube and fingers over latex. Then fingers tugged on the base of the plug, pulling it out in one swift movement, and Orlando was over him, pushing in, blunt and hard.

Even after the plug, it was too much, too fast, the perfect hurt Viggo needed. He made a raw noise and grabbed hard at Orlando’s back, where muscles moved smoothly under skin.

Orlando fucked hard and fast, his gaze on Viggo’s face, his skin slapping against Viggo’s. “Are you going to come?” he asked.

“Yes,” Viggo gasped, because he was, overwhelmed by the feeling of being fucked, the sheen of sweat on Orlando’s chest, how fucking right everything felt.

He shuddered through coming, before falling back on the bed, Orlando still driving into him.

The heat in Viggo’s body was fading to a distant glow, leaving him deliciously over sensitized, able to feel every flex of Orlando’s hips, every sinew that flexed, every inch of skin touching him. Orlando was deep inside him, breath and blood. This was what he craved, what he needed, to be possessed completely by another person, even for a few seconds. He was never closer to another person than during these fleeting moments with Orlando.

Watching Orlando come, vulnerable and desperate with open mouth and eyes squeezed closed, broke Viggo a little, each and every time.

Eventually, Orlando slid out and kneeled up, over Viggo, flushed, sweaty and gorgeous. “Look at how much you came,” Orlando said, trailing a finger through the pool on Viggo’s belly. “Look at that.”

Orlando pulled his own condom off, tip heavy and full, and smiled possessively. “Do you want it? Want my come?”

“Yes,” Viggo said. The latex, completely necessary when they were both fucking other people, was a physical reminder that they were no longer what they had once been. Viggo longed, secretly and darkly, to be fucked full of Orlando’s come, to taste it flooding his mouth again.

Orlando upended the condom over Viggo’s chest and squelched the come out, dripping it into his chest hair, then smearing it across both his nipples.

“Like that?” Orlando said, and Viggo nodded, jaw clenched tight to stop the whimper in his throat.

Orlando laughed and ran his palm through the mess on Viggo’s belly, rubbing the come there in as well.

“Now I want to come on your face,” Orlando said, reaching for the strip of condoms and tearing off another one. “Maybe I will this time?”

Viggo closed his eyes and swallowed. He didn’t need to beg; Orlando knew.

With a new condom and more lube, Orlando slid back in.

“Hard again? You like it that much?” Orlando said, his voice rough as he lowered his weight down so he was propped on his elbows. “Fuck, feel like I could go for hours.”

“Do it,” Viggo said.

Orlando ground in hard and slow, dirty rock on his hips, making Viggo groan.

“Tell me if you need more lube. Tell me if you’re sore,” Orlando said.

“Can take an hour or two,” Viggo said. “You know that.”

“I do know,” Orlando said. “I’ve fucked you until you were sore before. Gonna do it again.”

Viggo tried to hold back the noises he was making, but they came out as whimpers anyway.

Their sweaty skin slapped and stuck, and Viggo said, “Fuck, please.”

Viggo woke slowly, too warm under the bedding Orlando had dragged across him. The main lights in the room were off, but the smaller desk and bedside lights still glowed, and the living room light was on.

Still night time then.

He ached: spine, neck, hips and oh fuck, ass. He felt unbelievably good too, in a way he only ever did when he was with Orlando. Like he had found his moorings again, for a brief moment, and everything was right.

Orlando was standing by the window wearing only sweatpants, peering out the gap in the curtains at the night view of the sand and ocean. Wind whistled at the corners of the villa, hinting at the storm passing outside.

Viggo watched Orlando drink from a water bottle in long thirsty gulps, then close the curtains and turn to study their painting beside the window.

Orlando touched the surface of the painting gently, running his fingers over the red, mauve and purple swirls and cross hatched patterns.

“Hey,” Viggo murmured.

Orlando smiled, something like sadness around his eyes, and nodded to the wall. “It’s us, isn’t it? When did you paint it?”

“Long time ago,” Viggo said, sitting up in bed and holding out a hand for Orlando’s water bottle. Fucking like they had was thirsty work.

Orlando traced one long swoop of color across the painting, then the other that nestled beside it.

“I knew at the time,” he said, focusing on the painting. “The worth of what we had. I’d forgotten in the years since. This has reminded me.”

Viggo didn’t know what to say. He was bewildered and grateful, and words weren’t possible.

Orlando came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Why is the painting here? Why did you sell it?”

“It was a gift,” Viggo said. “I can do three things with personal paintings: put them on the walls at home, destroy them, or let private collectors have them. I gave this one to Dieter.”

“This one you could have given to me,” Orlando said. “Surely?”

“It was 2004,” Viggo said. “We weren’t in contact then.” They’d parted, an at-the-time irrevocable ending, and lasted three years apart before trying again to find a way to be together.

This fleeting, sublime annual weekend arrangement had been their eventual compromise.

“I have other paintings,” Viggo said. “I’ll send you one. If it has to be this painting, I’ll talk to Dieter, ask him to swap for another painting, so you can have this one.”

“It’s not the painting,” Orlando admitted. “Or that you let someone else see it. It’s that every year when I am forgetting, you keep on remembering.”

Viggo sat up properly in bed. “What happens when we’re apart is different for each of us. You know that.”

“It’s hard to be confronted with the evidence of it,” Orlando said. “I need to be able to think of you as wholly consumed by your life, your thoughts and feelings filled by the people around you, when we’re apart.”

“That’s not how it is for me,” Viggo said. “You’re a pebble in my shoe everyday. I’m not willing to lie about that to anyone, especially you.”

“What do we do about this?” Orlando asked, his voice thick.

Viggo reached out and touched Orlando’s arm. “What we always do. Make the most of the time we’re together.”

When Orlando left for the train station two days later, Viggo headed out the back of the villa onto the beach. The wind blew in wet and cold from the ocean, spitting rain in his face. He pushed his hands in his jacket pockets and pulled his knitted hat on more securely, and walked up the empty windswept beach to the headland in the distance.

He needed the cold to blow right through him, chase away the lingering last touches, the sting of teeth and the slide of skin. After a weekend was hard. He needed to put himself together again, step by step, moment by moment, while foam from the ocean scudded across the wet sand and blew into his feet.

The light was going, the sun behind dark clouds had dropped below the horizon, when Viggo walked back to the villa. He would light the fire, drink some whiskey, and turn his thoughts forward, to Copenhagen and meetings there, before flying home.

A figure was sitting on the steps at the back of the villa, jacket collar up and hat pulled down.

Viggo stopped and looked down at Orlando, whose face was red raw with cold.

“I couldn’t leave,” Orlando said. “I tried to, but I had to come back. Don’t make me go.”

Viggo held out his hands and pulled Orlando up, into a salty, ice-flecked embrace.

“You can stay as long as you want to,” he said.

Viggo unlocked the villa door and held it open for Orlando.

Inside, in the warm, Orlando buried his face against the raw, cold skin of Viggo’s neck. “We have to find a better way. I have to.”

Viggo held him tight, gratefully. It was time to have that conversation again. “Then let’s find our better way.”


End file.
